I walked downstairs, eager to feel the heat of the great hall’s fireplace, but when I reached the great double doors I stopped, causing two servants to nearly collide with my back. There, at the end of the hall, stood a fir tree so tall it nearly touched the ceiling. Teams of men hoisted it upright with ropes while Adam directed them. I watched, mute with amazement, as they secured it to the rafters. Several of the men noticed me and bowed; only then did Adam turn from his task.
“What do you think?” he asked, bounding toward me. “You’ve done beautiful work all over the castle with your garlands and wreaths. I thought you might enjoy unleashing your talents on an entire tree.”
I gaped at him. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well, there’s no shortage of holly berries,” he said, leading me closer. “And I think it’d look lovely if it were lit with candles. Small ones. We don’t want to burn down the great hall. It’s only a suggestion, of course,” he said when I didn’t respond. “Do you like it, Alyce?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“Of course I do,” I murmured, unable to tear my eyes from the tree. It looked grand and joyful, like an evergreen giant standing proudly in our humble castle. I closed my eyes and breathed in the lovely smell: wintery and spicy and sweet. “I’ll send for the candles,” I said, unable to stop myself smiling. “Though if it’s all right with you, we’ll use winter flowers instead of holly berries. I’ve got a few ideas…” I trailed off dreamily.
He grinned at me, then returned to his work. I called for servants to collect candles and as many laurel branches as they could carry in from the grounds. I threw on my apron and vanished into the garden, clipping rosemary sprigs and winter flowers. My bag bulged upon my return and I set up a temporary workshop of sorts in the great hall, where I passed a few happy hours with the ladies of court, stringing together garlands of laurel and rosemary to wind around the tree. Servants climbed ladders and fastened short candles to the branches while I tucked flowers of white and gold and blue among the boughs. When the whole tree was decorated from top to bottom, I stood admiring it with my hand over my heart. I had never seen such a lovely sight.
Not long after we’d finished did Adam return from yet another mysterious errand. His eyes brightened when he saw the tree and he clapped his hands like a boy.
“It’s wonderful, Alyce. Everything you touch turns to beauty.” He gazed at me, and I thought he was going to say something else when Turius suddenly appeared.
“They’re at the gates,” he said, removing his cloak. “Are you sure about this, Admetus? It’s a gracious gesture, but they’re only—”
“Don’t say another word, you’re sworn to secrecy, remember?” Adam cut him off in high spirits. He gently pushed me toward the door. “Now, Alyce, you go change for dinner while I welcome our guests.”
“But I should be here too,” I protested. “I need to welcome them alongside you.”
“Propriety is of little importance to these particular guests,” he said lightly. “Go along, Lady Queen. Dress for warmth and comfort. No need for your diamonds and jewels tonight.”
At that, I laughed. He knew perfectly well I had none. “Indeed, I’ll make sure the treasury is guarded and secure before I return,” I joked.
“When you return, you’ll bring all the treasure of Myrilla with you.” Smiling, he nudged me again. “Quickly, now. I’ll send word when it’s time.”
• • •
I couldn’t keep my excitement at bay as Trina, my maid, arranged my hair. No one had ever organized a surprise for me before, and I found the anticipation thrilling. I grinned at my reflection in the glass, enjoying the tug and pull of the brush and trying to imagine what Adam had planned. Trina twisted my hair into a soft knot and dressed me in an ivory wool gown. As Adam had instructed, it was comfortable and warm and fairly plain, apart from a few roses stenciled in gold thread around the waist.
Trina had barely finished when there came a knock at the door. A servant stepped into the room, breathless and cheerful.
“The king invites you to the great hall, Lady Queen.”
I followed her down the corridor and to the winding staircase. From what I could hear, a raucous party was already well underway in the great hall, though the voices sounded oddly high-pitched. Shrieks of laughter carried down the stone corridors, and the servants guarding the doors were so intent on peering into the hall that it took a moment for them to realize I was standing there. Embarrassed, they bowed in apology and swung open the heavy doors at once.
When I stepped into the great hall I received my second surprise for the day. Adam’s two hundred guests were all present, but they weren’t nobles or dignitaries. They were children. Children from the farms, accompanied by their parents. Happy cries filled the hall as they ran to admire the beautiful fir tree, decorated in all its splendor. Wine circulated for the parents while servants passed out cups of frothy milk to each child. When I saw the trays of food spread across the tables I laughed aloud.
Adam joined me and handed me a cup of hot mulled wine. “And what is so funny?” he asked with a wicked smile.
“Corncakes and bacon,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you’re serving that. I was joking when I suggested it.”
“I know,” he replied. “Which makes its perfection all the more amusing. Look at them, they can’t get enough.”
I smiled as I watched the children descend upon the trays with the enthusiasm of veteran gourmands. The older boys and girls dished the hot food onto the little ones’ plates, biting their lips in concentration as they maneuvered the long spoons. Servants stood at the end of each table with pitchers, ready to refill the milk cups proffered by pudgy hands. Empty trays were whisked away and replaced by fresh, steaming ones. Crumbs littered the floor and the great hall was louder than I’d ever heard it, but every child appeared to be enjoying themselves.
“What do you think, Alyce?” said Adam, stepping back to avoid a collision with a little girl whose face was smeared with bacon grease and milk. “Are you surprised?”
I nodded, wondering how I could have ever doubted him. “Yes, and it’s perfect.”
“I’m so glad you think so. Now, I have one more treat planned.” He clapped his hands three times. “If I could have your attention, everyone,” he bellowed. The hall fell silent—at least, as silent as possible while occupied by two hundred children. “It is nearly sunset. If you will join me near the tree, we will light it.”
Benches scraped against the stone floor as everyone left their plates and cups and jockeyed for a position near the tree. Some of the smaller children perched on their siblings’ shoulders while others climbed onto the tables for a better view. Adam lit the wick of a tall candle and handed it to me, then nodded for the servants to extinguish all the torches. Soon the only spot of light in the whole hall was the flame on my candle; in its orange glow I could see just Adam’s face, surrounded by darkness.
“You hold the only light in all of Myrilla,” he said quietly. “Welcome the sun back to us, Queen Alcestis.”
I knelt at the foot of the tree, shielding the flame with my cupped hand. Slowly, so as not to risk losing the flame, I touched it to an unlit wick and waited for the fire to catch. When I pulled it away the hall burst into cheers. I plucked the candle off the tree and handed it to Adam, and together the two of us lit as many wicks as we could reach. The hall glowed from the light, growing ever brighter as the servants lit the candles near the top with aid of long, slender torches.
The children returned to their plates, but I stood back and admired the tree. It was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. The scent of fir and rosemary and winter flowers, all illuminated by candlelight, swept over me like a wave of beauty. I touched my face and found my cheeks wet with tears. From the corner of my eye I saw Adam watching me, so I wiped them quickly away.
“Shall we call for some music?” I asked him, sniffling slightly. “It’s the only thing this feast is missing.”
&
nbsp; He had the grace not to comment on my weepy eyes. “I thought the very same thing.” Following a quick word to a passing servant, the court musicians appeared and played such cheerful tunes that most of the children abandoned their plates once more and danced.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of happiness. The court and the commoners mingled as one, drinking hot mulled wine and watching the children dance with indulgent smiles. I spoke with women and men I had never met, many of whom praised me for my generosity on this blessed night. I told them it was all my husband’s doing, and assured them we would hold another celebration soon. Such merriment I had never known; we talked and sang and laughed until our sides hurt.
We only called an end to the evening when children began falling asleep at the tables. Each guest was presented with a bag of sugared nuts on their departure, though sleepy yawns soon turned to rejuvenated laughter when the children stepped out into the courtyard and saw heavy snowflakes swirling down from the grey sky.
Once the last family departed, Adam and I returned to our rooms, discussing the celebration’s success as we made our way through the dark corridors. When we shut the door behind us my feet felt heavy and my face hurt from smiling. I pulled off my shoes and sank to the carpet before the fire, too tired to climb into the chair. Adam joined me, his eyes glazed with happy fatigue.
“Truly, it was wonderful,” I told him. “I’ve never attended such a lovely solstice. Thank you for all your preparation. It can’t have been easy, keeping such a great secret.”
He unlaced his boots. “No, it wasn’t. Not with your sharp eyes watching me,” he teased. “Then when your clever mouth started firing questions last week I thought all was lost. That’s why I had to bring in the fir tree. To distract you.”
I laughed. “Well, it certainly worked.”
We sat quietly for several minutes, until the last of the snow had melted from my clothes and my hair had dried in the fire’s warmth. Suddenly, Adam stood up and walked to the bed, rummaging underneath it for a moment. He returned with a long, slender wooden chest, which he placed on the carpet before me.
I frowned at it. “What’s this?”
“A little something I made. It’s a tradition in my homeland for a husband to present his wife with a gift on the eve of the solstice,” he explained. “To remind her that to him, she is the sun. That she brings warmth and hope and illumination to his life. A life that would be dark and cold without her.”
“A pretty sentiment.”
“And a true one.” He drew a long, slim object from the chest. It was wrapped in green silk and when he placed it in my hands I recognized the shape at once. My heart raced as I unwrapped the silk, eager to see what lay within, but not wanting to rush. I smiled, letting the wrapping flutter to the floor in a soft green puddle.
It was a bow. An ivory-colored bow cut to fit my arm precisely. Carved into the smooth wood were dozens of tiny roses, wrapping the bow from end to end like a ghostly vine. My fingers closed around the grip; it felt vibrant and alive in my hands, the same way Adam’s bow had all those weeks ago.
“Adam, it’s stunning,” I breathed. I ran my fingers over the intricate carvings. “How did you find time to make this?”
“I’ve carried it to the mountain with me for the past several weeks. My herdsman coached me a great deal. He’s a master archer himself; he’s the one who honed my skill and taught me to craft my own bows and arrows.”
“Well, he did his work well. It’s truly stunning.” I admired the bow awhile longer, then wrapped it in the silk once more and laid it carefully in my lap. “Thank you. This is the most perfect gift I’ve ever received.”
His eyes shone; I could tell he was happier than he let on. “I’m glad it pleases you.”
“I wish I had a gift for you,” I said sheepishly, “but I’m afraid I’m unprepared.”
With a laugh, he stood up and held out his hand. “You’re the sun, remember? The sun is a gift in itself.” He pulled me to my feet and hung my new bow on the wall next to his. “Now, Queen Alcestis, I know you’re burdened with many crucial duties, but when would you like your first archery lesson? Let’s say, early next week?”
“That won’t do at all.” I shook my head and beamed at the gorgeous white bow. “I insist we begin in the morning.”
Chapter 12
I wish I could tell you that every day of my first winter with Adam was devoted to fun and sport, but that would be misleading. He did set up archery butts on the grounds, where he taught me to use my beautiful new bow, and we entertained the court with a few cold weather picnics featuring buttered toast and hot mulled wine. But there was little time for merriment. While it did not snow very much that winter it was still bitterly cold. A dry, cutting cold that cracked your skin and burned your lungs when you drew breath. Many evenings we opened the great hall to anyone who wanted a warm place to sleep. Mothers brought their children in hopes that a night beside our hearth would help soothe their whimpering babies, and the men and women who tended the fields spread their cots close to the fire to thaw their frozen hands before returning to work. It broke my heart to see their suffering. Adam ordered the court physician to make daily rounds, checking the farmhands for blackened fingers or wheezing lungs. Every seamstress employed by the castle was instructed to stop hemming shirts and gowns in favor of weaving blankets from Adam’s stock of Itomian wool. The castle larders reached their lowest levels and the day finally arrived when even Adam and I had nothing to dine on but cabbage stew flavored with pig fat.
We sat on the floor of our chamber, as close to the hearth as we could without sparks flying at us, and gripped our bowls with both hands for warmth. We hadn’t taken a meal in the great hall for several days. There was simply no point. The court had practically disintegrated in the weeks following the solstice; many were paying visits to our neighbors on Adam’s behalf, while others simply requested release because of the dismal state of the pantry. I stirred my soup halfheartedly, the tension in my stomach leaving no room for hunger.
Adam tapped my bowl with his spoon. “Eat up, Lady Queen. You’re dining on the finest feast Myrilla has to offer.”
I looked at the stew, gobs of stringy cabbage in a watery broth. “I know, that’s what’s so troubling.” I sighed. “Adam, what happens if Myrilla starves?”
“It won’t. We have hunger, not famine. When I returned from the mountain this morning I rode out to the vegetable farms to see how they’re looking.”
I swallowed a wet, salty bite. “And?”
“The greens will be ready before long. A few days at the most. The farmers on the south end have a promising crop of winter vegetables. It’s encouraging, you should go tomorrow and have a look around. The people are holding up fine. Winter won’t last forever.”
Silence fell as we resumed our dinner. I clenched my jaw, unable to chew any longer. Not because of the taste—I’d subsisted on unpleasant food throughout most of my life—but to stop myself shouting at Adam. It was all very well for him to talk of winter’s end and the promising crops, but he hadn’t witnessed years of disappointment in Myrilla’s fields. He didn’t know of the hatred my uncle had stirred in his failings to gain the ear of the gods. He didn’t know the crippling defeat that came with looking out at the wheat fields to see that, once again, nothing had grown. To my horror, hot, angry tears pooled in my eyes and dropped into my stew.
“Alyce, what is it?” said Adam in alarm.
I shook my head. “Let’s say the vegetables come in fine, and the orchards and vineyards produce, too,” I said, my voice trembling. “Even if we’re overflowing with apples and pears and lettuce, that doesn’t help the wheat! Our portion of the treaty depends on the wheat production.”
“I know that, Alyce. There’s still plenty of time—”
“The wheat is everything,” I said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Otherwise we’ll be indebted to our neighbors for the rest of our lives, perhaps longer. True, the people of Myrilla will have
food for their tables but the kingdom itself will shrivel and die. I don’t care about feasting or the court or showing off for the world, none of that matters. All I care about is the harvest. The gods have forgotten us for so long, I can’t bear it.”
The words rang in the air long after they left my lips. Adam said nothing, and I didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes. I wiped my cheeks with the palms of my hands, warm with humiliation. I hated myself for crying in front of him, especially when he was just trying to comfort me with good news.
The silence lengthened. I waited for him to snap back, to call me foolish for doubting or to make some snide comment. But he simply took the bowl from my hands and set it on the hearth.
“Alyce,” he said quietly. “You and I have the same worries. When I’m awake, there isn’t a moment when I’m not thinking about the treaties and wondering if the wheat will grow. I can’t even escape at night because I often dream about it. As much as I’d like to reach into the dirt and force the wheat to sprout, you and I can’t do that. The seed is in the ground, and the fields are being tended. That’s the extent of our influence. You said so yourself, remember?”
I nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. I know it.” I managed to dry my eyes. “Though it’s not out of our hands entirely just yet. There’s still the Blooding.”
Until that evening, Adam and I had not discussed the Blooding in great detail. He knew very little about it and, due to my anxiety over the food shortage, I hadn’t begun the preparations. The Blooding and the harvest were the two most important events in Myrilla. You could not have one without the other. If no Blooding took place, a harvest was highly unlikely. And without a harvest you had no reason to Blood the fields in preparation for the next. During his years of power my uncle had neglected both of these practices, to the point where I wondered if the fields weren’t so cursed that the soil itself carried rot.
“We still have a few weeks to get ready, don’t we?” asked Adam, passing me the stew once more.
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